Chapter Four
Thought I heard you whispering murder
Thought this witches brew was more than bulletproof
But words are like guns when you shoot the moon
'Cause everybody whispers...
Tori Amos, Witness
"That's why I'm sure."
For a moment, she lost herself in the inexplicable sensations of finally, finally having a chance to be swim in the truth. There was no need for anything... words, phrase, and tiny pushes... but simplicity. It was as it should have always been. They were simple. They were complicated. They were them.
But this wasn't home.
Whatever that meant now.
The truth had finally been exposed...
This wasn't their time.
This was dangerous.
She pressed her fingers to her lips, tingling from the aftermath of his kiss. Her memories screamed for an urgent release of another time, another place where the outcome was far worse than this.
"We can't do this," she murmured. "Not here. We don't know..."
Harry's eyes darkened and she watched as the familiar shadows of anger and guilt began to resume their place over him.
"Don't do this to me, Hermione."
She stepped forward and reached for him, but he swung his arm from out of her reach. She sighed and forced herself into a state of calmness, knowing full well that her role as the rational half had to take precedent over her feelings.
"This is dangerous, Harry."
"What?" He hissed. "Are you afraid of hurting Ron?"
She bit her tongue and forced herself to turn away. He was hurt. He just kissed her. He was hurt and angry.
And she was afraid. Not of hurting Ron. Not of hurting him. She was afraid of getting hurt.
She didn't want to get hurt again.
"No."
Desperation began to gnaw at her. It was as if they were slipping back into the roles they had fashioned for themselves back at home.
The journal beckoned her from the night table.
I spend my nights remembering that day.
I could tell you the exact spot. The color of the sky and of my shirt. I could tell you whether or not his hands were shoved inside his pockets... as always... and how he couldn't meet my eyes.
I could tell you how I couldn't stop crying.
They say love is supposed to be a rollercoaster of emotional ups and downs. They say love is supposed to be the best and worst of times.
But when he told me that he couldn't love me.
I wanted to die.
And I suppose I did some way. I died under a blue, blue sky and with a light breeze. I died with the spring grass brushing under my bare feet. I died on a day where I should have been happy. Horribly poetic moments that belonged to someone who should have been told that her feelings were reciprocated...
But that's not the point.
Harry came to my rooms tonight after Remus was kidnapped, to see if I was okay. He was the one who told me. He came and found me before dinner. He told me because apparently Ron still couldn't muster the balls to come and tell me.
But he came to my roomsÉ and then he kissed me. He kissed me like he did back in sixth year.
And then he left.
My ring has never felt as big as a burden as it did after that moment.
"Take it off."
Ring. Burden.
Harry's low voice startled her out of her thoughts. The journal whispered to her as she stepped forward and grabbed it.
"I can't."
We feed on the danger of our union.
I'm supposed to be the rational one, the sound one. But the pull of the allure is just too strong.
And I'm alive again.
Until he leaves.
The journal sat in her hands like a set of heavy weights. She held it out to him, waiting for him to take it. He stared at her and took it. His gaze was unreadable.
"Read it," she whispered. "Read it and you'll see why we have to be careful."
Ring. Burden. Ring. Burden.
She would never tell him how badly she wanted to take it off.
Not yet.
**
Hermione left him in her rooms, not ready or willing to face him when he was finished reading her future self's journal.
There were things in there that she wasn't ready to face quite yet. She wasn't worried about what lurked behind the words that described daily activities or even the later rendezvous between them. Her demons that lay there would go unrecognized by him as always, but he needed to understand the dangers that they faced.
They were at their strongest together.
They just weren't ready. No matter how much she wanted to give into him; she could not forget the ghosts of their past and the future that seemed to haunt them here.
She wandered down the winding halls and passed the quarters of names she knew, but had yet to meet. Ron had told both Harry and her that the Compound, as small and crowded as it was, was vast in its secret corners and quiet nooks.
People had learned the hard way to not be found unless it was absolutely necessary. Ron himself seemed to fall under this category. He only came about when both Harry and her would take to wandering around, showing them places but never attempting to engage them in any form of conversation. Harry received a huge amount of Ron's anger, while she received the ends of... she had no idea what to call it anymore.
Ring. Burden.
He made sure they knew that they were merely invaders in a time and that they would have to learn how to adapt.
Ginny, on the other hand, was a consistent presence.
Hermione never thought much of the other girl, except as her only companion those long summers at the Burrow or when Harry and Ron were off doing things in Grimmauld Place. But she knew of the other girl's infatuation with Harry. She knew how strong it was and how permanent it became as Molly Weasley continuingly urged her daughter to pursue Harry.
"Everything is as it should be. You and Ron. And soon," she said with a blush. "Me and Harry."
This Ginny looked at her with ill-conceived hate.
A part of her relished in the fact that she could rub it in. Ginny, during their school years, was a sought after female. She spun webs of lies. Sometimes they were terrible lies, part of her ploy to snag boys up like flies. And Harry, Harry who barely batted an eye when it came to the youngest Weasley, only noticed when Ron blew a fuse at Ginny's latest conquest.
There was no doubt in her mind that Ginny had been the one that pushed Ron to propose to her.
Ring. Burden.
Dead.
I died.
She wondered if...
"Well, there you are."
She jumped and spotted a smirking Neville waiting for her at the end of the hallway, near the courtyard entrance. Hermione relaxed at the intrusion of his welcomed presence.
Neville was her familiar face.
I trust him. I don't care if Ron and Harry don't trust him. Neville has been a good and loyal friend.
"Up for a walk to see more of the sights?"
She flashed a small smile. "Sure."
They stepped outside into the harsh sunlight and the usual crowd of people wandering and bartering the street for food.
"I know that face," Neville teased. "That's your I need to solve all the world's problems so I can sleep at night face."
Hermione laughed, startling a few people from their routines to stare at her. She ignored the feelings that came with their recognition of her. While Harry had obviously been revered as some sort of iconic figure, she seemed to garner a bizarre reaction of hope and fear.
"What was I... she like?"
Neville glanced at her curiously. "You've read most of her journal."
She nodded, her mind wandering back to Harry in her rooms. Was he reading it? How was he reacting? Would he understand now?
"I have," she murmured in response. "But what was she like?"
"You," Neville corrected as they passed a fruit vendor, who she recognized as a fifth year Hufflepuff she had tutored her sixth year.
"You were amazing."
"Neville..."
"I'm serious," he cut her off. "You were. Your strategies were flawless. You're the reason why they can't get to the Compound or find it for that matter. The repellents of your wards are vicious. Your security is perfect. And when you fought in battle, you were savagely quiet in mercilessness. You knew and understood things that the rest of us could not comprehend. You did not blink when you killed someoneÉ a far cry from the girl that I knew at school."
She swallowed.
I died.
Leaves.
Alive.
Gone.
Ring. Burden.
"There were days where you were unreachable. You would stay in the library for hours at a time, studying the journals from the old wars and the notes from the reports that Snape had left with you from his spying ventures. Until you and Harry got back together."
Her eyes closed and she pulled her sweater closer. "When Remus was captured."
"Yeah," Neville replied. "You were devastated. Remus seemed to be the only one who could really reach you. Harry was the one who broke the news to youÉ"
He paused, pulling her off to a vendor. She watched silently as he purchased a few scraps of parchment and some more ink. Ron had told them that parchment was scarce after Hogsmeade had been burned down and that the only reason she had access to it was because she had found other sources.
Hermione sighed tiredly, fingering her ring loosely in her hand. There was just too much to take in.
"Anyway," Neville began again. "After that, it seemed like your spark had been returned to you. And Harry was much more pleasant to be around."
And I'm alive again.
Until he leaves.
"And Ron? Did Ron notice?"
He shrugged nonchalantly. "Nah. Weasley was too thickheaded to notice. Sometimes I wondered if... You have to understand that before the two of you diedÉ You, Potter, and even bloody Weasley were practically worshiped."
"We were winning."
Neville didn't answer for a while. They passed more stores. Some were in what she could only describe as rundown shacks. Others were large carts filled with an assorted stack of books and things.
"Yeah," he finally answered. "We were winning. Until the rumors of the mole began to surface within the compound."
"A mole, you daft git. A traitor. Someone working for the other side. Whoever it was fucked up our evacuation of Hogwarts." Ron's eyes slid over to Hermione. "And we're nearly certain that the same person was responsible for Hermione's death."
"There were rumors?"
He nodded. "There's always rumors when things go bad, Hermione. It's human nature. It was after Susie was killed... and the very moment that I found your body that I knew they were true."
She stopped.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Ring.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Burden.
Exhale.
"My body," she choked out. Pain began to rise through her body and shoot up her nerves. Her heart was pounding. The ground began to spin.
"Stupid mudblood," Ginny hissed, bringing the knife above her head. She brought it down swiftly. "Stupid, stupid mudblood."
Her ring slipped to the ground with cling. The diamond glistened in the gravel.
"Hey." Neville's hand was warm. "Hey, focus on me."
Hermione forced herself to breathe. "I'm okay," she whispered, her eyes on her fallen ring. "I'm okay."
She let go of Neville and kneeled on the ground. She picked up the ring and weighed it between her hands. Ring. Burden. Burden. Ring. She could feel Neville's eyes on her, waiting to see what she did.
Ring.
Burden.
Ring.
Burden.
And I'm alive again.
Until he leaves.
She put her ring in her pocket and stood up. Feeling lighter, she smiled softly at Neville. "Can we do something?" She asked. "Something that has nothing to do with any of this. Something spontaneous."
Neville watched her silently, but then grinned. "Yeah. There's something we can do."
She followed his gaze that lingered on a small shop at the far end of the Compound, watching as a man stepped out and sat on the stoop of the stairs with his cigarettes.
"Come on," Neville said, dragging her along. "I'll reintroduce you to Zach Smith."
**
An hour later Hermione emerged from Zacharais Smith's shop of horrors, reluctantly reacquainted with her former classmate and with pain screaming in her lower back.
"I can't believe you got me to do this," she said.
Neville snorted. "I can't believe you did this sober. And gave Zach the closest thing he'll ever get to being shagged. Potter'll be jealous."
Her eyes widened as they headed back up the path and through the courtyard. She reached behind her and lifted her shirt, her fingers brushing against the bandage in the center of her lower back.
"I can't believe I just got a tattoo."
It was as if she had entered the shop possessed. The desire to do something that would set her apart from the shadows of who she was in this world had grown to a fever. She had to be known as someone other than her or our hope. Merlin, she mused with a grimace. That hurt.
Neville laughed, linking his arm through hers. "Ah, but it'll be well worth it. Think of it as deflowering your Harry."
"Fuck you, Neville."
He grinned. "There's my girl. So what does it me..."
"You bloody bitch."
Ginny stood before them with wild eyes and her hair dancing in the wind. She looked like a veela preparing to reveal her true face.
"Ginny Weasley," Neville said. "Is a lying bitch."
"You bitch," she spat. "You fucking bitch. You knew he was mine!"
Hermione stepped back beside Neville, feelings of anger and mistrust threatening to spill over. She didn't want to get into a confrontation. Not yet. Not while both she and Harry were still idolized strangers.
"Piss off Weasley," Neville snapped, extending an arm in front of her. "No one needs to her your crazy delusions."
But Ginny paid no attention to him. Her eyes were focused solely on Hermione.
She was surprised at how calm she viewed the other woman. Placing a gentle hand on Neville's arms, she stepped forward to show that she was unwilling to get into something but ready to defend herself.
"I have no idea what you're trying to imply, Ginny," she stated quietly.
A laugh escaped Ginny's lips, laced with madness and a feverish anger. The woman before her, Hermione began to realize, was nothing more than a brilliantly hidden time bomb.
"Oh, you know," she hissed. "You've always known."
Ginny launched forward and hit her, her nails dragging across Hermione's cheek. She stumbled to her knees from the force of Ginny's attack, pressing a cool hand to her cheek.
Acting on pure instinct and the self-defense classes that her mum had forced her to take the summer after her fifth year, Hermione swung her leg around and forced Ginny to fall backwards.
Before she could do anything to retaliate, Neville moved and grabbed Ginny. He pinned her to the wall with her hands above her head. She watched dazedly as Neville glared at the other woman.
"You're a fucking crazy bitch, Weasley."
He turned slightly to her. "All right, Hermione?"
Ginny struggled and Hermione managed to stand again. Her eyes widened at the sight of blood on her hand.
She swallowed. "I..."
"What is going on?"
She whirled around to see Harry standing with the journal clutched in his hands, watching the scene before him with wide and furious eyes.
He moved towards and gently tucked his hand under her chin, examining the angry marks that Ginny's nails raked across her skin. She trembled.
"Are you all right?" He whispered, his gaze lingering on a struggling Ginny being held by Neville.
"I," she began. "I'm fine."
Harry opened his mouth to respond, but was cut of by the all too familiar voice of Tonks.
"Well, look hheeere Ronnie!" Her voice slurred. "It's a group partttyyy!"
Ron and Tonks appeared at the opposite end of the hall, stumbling and clutching each other as they made their way towards them. Hermione watched the interaction, lost in her feelings of utter confusion and amusement. If it were a different time, she would have laughed. But the combination of pain in her cheek and back and the shock of Ginny's bizarre attack stifled those feelings.
"Wha... What's going... going on?"
Ginny struggled violently against Neville, twisting and turning in his hold. "She's not wearing your ring, Ron!"
A look of pure hatred and possessiveness seemed to shadow Ron's features. Harry handed her the journal as if he anticipated something and stepped in front of her.
Hermione watched in horror as Ron untangled himself from Tonk's intoxicated embrace and flung himself at Harry.
Ring.
Burden.
And I'm alive again.
Until he leaves.